Justice Served Fresh
by sinsandshadows
Summary: [now with 100 percent more chapter 6 goodness!] Sequel to Revenge is a Dish Best Served Dead. Lindsey is back in town and Wes is a vampire. He killed Lilah and now he's after Angel. Takes place after Tomorrow, and before Deep Down.
1. Arrival

Author:  BeautifulAli

E-Mail: liongirl2000@aol.com

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer:  I only own Rom and Morpheus, all the others I'm borrowing from Joss and the ME team, and I promise to give them back almost good as new.

~~~~~~~~

The dusty red '56 Ford pickup approaching the Hyperion hotel from down the street was missing a headlight and had a large crack through the center of the windshield.  It had seen better days, for sure, but it had a sense of comfort, as if the owner loved it for what it was, and saw no reason to change it.  It was a truck with character, and it belied the image of the driver.  All Fred could see from the window was a young man about her age, wearing a suit and tie.  He was cute, but not as cute as Charles.  She wondered if he was a client.  They'd been trying to help the people that came in as best they could, but without Angel and Cordelia they couldn't do all that much.  And it wasn't like Fred had Wesley's skill with languages, either.

            Fred sighed, and watched the car pass by the hotel.  Not a client after all.  Guess it was all for the good, after all, they still had to work on finding everyone…somehow.  They hadn't seen Connor, either.  He'd just vanished, the same as Angel and Cordelia had….  It gave her a bad feeling, like somehow it was all connected, and not in a good way.  But that was silly.  They'd find everybody, and everything would back to normal then.

~~~~~~~~

Lindsey circled the block once, to make sure no one was following him, and parked his truck in the hotel's lot.  This was the last address he had on Angel.  Lindsey hoped he'd still be here.  And he hoped he'd get a chance to explain why he'd returned before Angel kicked his ass.  Last time he was here, Angel had made it clear that he wouldn't be welcomed back with open arms.  And back then, he hadn't thought that he ever would be caught dead in the city again.

It was weird to be back in LA after all this time…well, not so long really, only a year and change.  It seemed like a lifetime.  Now Lindsey wasn't about to say that he'd seen the light and turned over a new leaf and all that crap, but still…he realized that the things he'd done while working for Wolfram & Hart hadn't been among his finer moments.  He'd wanted to get ahead in the world, and the firm had taught him how to do that: use the people you can, and screw the rest.  He'd learned another way, thanks to Angel…as much as he hated to admit that the brooding bastard had ever helped him.

Aside from the assassins that had been sent after him just a few days after he'd left, the past year had been the best he could ever remember.  He'd been living in a small town in northern California, working as a freelance defense attorney and playing gigs at the local bar on Friday nights.  For the first time in his life, he was content with what he had.  And then he'd met Juliet Romney, a waitress at the bar he sang at, and life had never been better.

She was everything he'd never thought he could have: caring, beautiful, intelligent.  She'd been attending college for her masters in business, and working the day shift at the bar to cover expenses.  Lindsey fell head over heels for her, and she for him.  And when he told her about the work he did in LA, she didn't run away.  Rom was sad for him, that he had all those terrible acts on his conscience, but she didn't hate him for it.  He thought it was one of life's small miracles.  But somehow things always manage to get fucked up just when you least want them to.

A few weeks later she was dead, killed by agents of Wolfram & Hart; murdered, just because she was in the way.  Lindsey had vowed justice, the only kind of justice that Wolfram & Hart could understand.  He'd sworn bloody death to those that had taken her, and the first true happiness he'd ever known from him.

Lindsey took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and walked toward the Hyperion.


	2. Help?

Fred sat at the desk, feeling very out of place.  This was Cordy's seat, this was where she should be sitting…but she wasn't here.  As far as she and Charles could figure out, she wasn't _anywhere_.  The thought frightened her.  What would she do if they didn't ever come back?  She'd had a life before Pylea, but after living there, and learning what kind of evil existed in the world, she couldn't return to her scholarly world.  Not completely anyway.  She was so desperate she'd even considered going to Wolfram & Hart for help.  After all, they wanted Angel in the game as much as the good guys did; they just wanted him on their side.

Fred was distracted from her thoughts by the squeak of metal on metal that told her that someone had entered the hotel.  She had told Charles to get some WD40 for those hinges, but they'd both been so busy trying to find leads and…it was the guy in the suit she'd seen earlier.  She did her best to put on a semblance of the perky smile Cordy used when greeting potential customers.  "Angel Investigations, we help who we can," she said, a bit of irony creeping into her tone.  They hadn't been helping much lately.

He seemed a bit high class to be here, she thought.  Fred supposed that even rich people could have demon possession problems.  Up close she could tell what she couldn't from farther away: the suit was custom made, and looked very expensive.  The man held himself with a bearing that reminded her of something she couldn't quite place.

His voice was quiet and slightly raspy when he spoke.  "I'm looking for Angel.  Is he around?"

"Oh…well, no.  But if you explain your situation, we'll do what we can for you."

The man was quiet for a moment.  He looked about to speak when Charles Gunn walked into the lobby.  "Well, there's a face I never thought I'd see again.  Didn't Angel tell you to stay the hell out of Dodge?"  Gunn glanced at Fred and noticed her confused expression.  "Evil lawyer," he explained.

"Ex-evil lawyer, actually.  That's kinda why I'm here.  I was hoping—"

"Yeah, that's nice.  Leave," ordered Gunn bluntly.

"Charles," implored Fred.  "Maybe we should try to help.  That's what we're her for, isn't it?"

Gunn didn't take his eyes from the ex-evil lawyer.  "Alright, fine.  Talk."

The young man sighed, but didn't relax.  "My name is Lindsey McDonald, and I used to work for Wolfram & Hart, until I got an evil hand…which is a long story I don't need to really go into.  Anyway, I left, and I wasn't expecting to come back, but the firm didn't want to let me go, even with all the dirt I had on them.  They went after me, but killed my girlfriend.  I want to hurt them back, but to do it, I need brood-boy's help.  Besides, I figured he'd love to bust up some Wolfram & Hart heads."

Gunn sized up the man, his street-trained eyes searching for strengths and weaknesses.  "You help us find him, and maybe you'll get your revenge.  Angel went missing a couple of weeks ago, along with Cordelia and Conner.  Wesley has gone missing as well, but it was a few days after the rest of them.  Don't know if they're all together, but I doubt it.  We've pretty much used up all our resources here."

Lindsey looked…perturbed.  Maybe even a bit shaken.  Fred guessed that he'd expected Angel would always be here, because he always had been in the past.  Somehow she got the feeling that he and Angel would always meet up at the most inopportune times, or convenient, depending on from which side you viewed it.  Fred thought she heard a muttered "Great," but she couldn't be sure.  Lindsey sighed.  "I'll see what I can dig up.  I may have a few sources that will still give me information, despite my not-evil status."  Fred could see the beginnings of a wry, self-deprecating grin forming on his lips.  "Mind if I stay here?"

Gunn said nothing as he reached behind the counter and pulled out a set of room keys.  "107," he said, tossing the keys in Lindsey's general direction.  The lawyer caught them in the air and headed out to the parking lot, presumably to grab his suitcase.

Gunn turned to Fred.  "We should watch out for him.  I don't trust him," he told his girlfriend seriously, bending down to kiss her forehead.  Warm, tingly sensations flowed through Fred as they always did whenever Charles was near her.  She understood his hesitation, but for some reason she trusted the man.  Her first impressions weren't usually wrong, but she'd be wary for Charles' sake.  She snuggled closer into his embrace.


	3. Plotting and Execution

Wes opened his eyes.  It was still daylight outside; he could almost feel the oppressive weight of the sun bearing down on him.  But he was perfectly safe in this room—it was built for a vampire, after all.  The room was lushly furnished, appointed in deep reds and black, but that didn't quite disguise the fact that it had no windows.  Despite, or perhaps because of that, it was quite comfortable, and he had it all to himself.  Morpheus had left Los Angles the night after Wes had drained Lilah, giving him a sense of freedom that he had never known before.  He owed nothing to anyone, except himself.

He could still feel Lilah's blood coursing through his veins…but he wanted more.  He wanted Angel.  Wes lay back in the plush bed and put his arms behind his head, contemplating what Angel's blood would taste like.  It would be powerful, no doubt, but certainly not on the same level as the strange, magical elixir of his Sire.  But it would be far more satisfying.

He might not know where to find Angel, but he could find Connor sure enough.  Wes knew the boy like few did, because he was much like himself, a young man who hated his father, and knew that was all alone in this world.  Wes knew exactly where Connor would run, and he could taste the son's scent in the air even now.  The boy would tell him where Angel was.  And if he didn't…well, Wes did enjoy a good spot of sadism and torture.

Still imagining the taste of Angel's blood, Wes opened the book that had been sitting on the oak dresser beside the bed, and began to read, awaiting nightfall.

***

Gunn was polishing his favorite axe when he walked in.  It had been over a year, but he hadn't forgotten Lindsey McDonald.

2 coats of polish, no more and no less, until he could see his face in the blade.  And then he'd caught another reflection.  One he was sure would never show up in LA again…and yet here he was, and making friendly with Fred to boot.  Growing up on the streets, Gunn had learned to never trust the Man, and lawyers were notoriously out to screw everybody.  He didn't care how much McDonald said he'd changed, Gunn was going to keep his eye on him.

After the lawyer had departed, Gunn gathered his girlfriend into a close embrace.  He wouldn't let anything happen to her.  Without Angel and the rest, they were operating on much less than full strength, which made them vulnerable.

"Charles?  What are we going to do?" asked Fred, despair leaking into her voice.

"Don't worry, baby.  We'll think of something.  We always do," he replied softly, brushing a hand through her soft dark curls.

***

Connor collapsed on his decaying mattress, exhausted.  He'd been out since sunset, doing the only thing he knew—slaying demons.  He'd found this place weeks ago, a burnt out and boarded up old factory with a few rooms mostly intact.  He'd dragged up a few choice pieces of furniture he'd found at the dump, and the place now had a certain "lived in" atmosphere going for it.  The climate didn't affect him, so Connor didn't worry about the wind whistling in from various holes in the walls and the hole that served as both window and door.

Tired as he was, he still noticed when a new presence entered the room.  Connor lay as still as he could, drawing the intruder nearer.  It was a vampire, he could tell.  He didn't know how, but he'd always able to tell what sort of demon stalked him.  Maybe it was just a survival instinct from growing up in Quor'toth.  Maybe it was the legacy of his vampire parents.  He didn't care; he just used it.

The vampire stopped just out of his reach.  "Hello, Connor," it said in a voice Connor recognized.  But how had Wesley become a vampire?  Connor didn't doubt his ability to slay a former teammate, after all, he'd subjected his own father to an eternity of suffering, but he did wonder what the vampire wanted.  "I know you're awake.  You think a vampire can't tell by the speed of a heartbeat.  Yours is beating much too quickly.  Are you afraid?"

Connor gave his mind over to instinct, and back-flipped away from the vampire, putting distance between them.  He glared at the vampire through a tangle of messy brown hair.  "You know I'll kill you," he said cockily.

The vampire responded with a disbelieving glance.  "No, I don't think you will.  I think that you'll tell me where you've hidden Angel."

Now it was Connor's turn for disbelief.  "Why should I tell you?" he spat, eying the vampire warily.  Wes was smarter than Connor had given him credit for.  He thought that he and Justine had left no evidence at the scene.  There had been nothing to lead anyone back to them.

The smile on Wes' face made Connor truly afraid for the first time in a very long while.  "Because if you don't tell me now, you'll tell me when I've tortured you to the brink of death; visited every known horror upon you until you scream for mercy, for anything to make the pain stop.  I know you think you're the most dangerous thing that hunts in the night, but you're quite wrong."  Wes barred his fangs, causing his face to contort in feeding mode.  "Now to be cliché, we can do this the easy way…"

Suddenly the vampire was behind him, holding him so tightly he couldn't even squirm, and Connor could feel teeth at his throat.  "Or the hard way," said the breath in his ear.

"Why the hell do you want to find him anyway?  He deserves what I gave him."

"It's complicated…actually, no, it's not.  Revenge.  And you're going to help me attain it."

"You're going to kill him?  It's too good for him.  The bastard deserves to suffer for all eternity."

"And that's what I intend to do.  Only he's going to be suffering at my hands instead of yours.  Now, tell me where to find Angel before I start having fun."

"One condition—"

Wes laughed.  "You're hardly in a position to post conditions."

"I want to be there," said Connor coldly.


	4. Getting a Lead

It's been a while…heck, it's been years. However, I found the plot outline I'd completed some time ago when I was cleaning my room recently, and I really wanted to finish the story. I can't guarantee timely updates, but this story _will _be finished.

----+----

Lindsey had come back downstairs after unloading his meager belongings to come face to face with both Gunn and Fred. He'd asked them to fill him in on what had happened in the year he'd been gone. He hadn't expected the story to take the better part of an hour to tell.

"So let me see if I've got this straight. You're telling me Angel has a human son, whose mother is Darla, who killed herself to give birth to him? And then your main book-guy, Mr. Whyndam-Price, discovers a prophecy which foretells that Angel will kill the kid, and so he makes off with him. In doing so, he actually ends up delivering the baby into the hands of this Holtz fellow, who holds a serious grudge against Angel…you've got to be kidding me. This sounds like the plot of some daytime soap opera."

Not too long ago the though of Darla bearing Angel's child would have eaten him up inside. He'd been so stupid, caring for a woman who had treated him like a pet. _If you're a good boy maybe she'll give you a treat, let you hold her body to yours, allow you to steal a kiss…. _Lindsey's eyes searched Gunn's, but he saw nothing there which belied the tale.

"No jokes. No lies. That's how it went down," said the dark skinned man seriously.

Lindsey sighed, and then continued to sum up what he'd been told. "So this Holtz took the kid into some alternate dimension where time runs faster than here, waits for Junior to grow up, and then miraculously finds a way back here. Somehow Angel and his son have a moment and everything is all rainbows and butterflies…except now they're all missing. Is that it?"

"That's about the size of it," responded Gunn.

Lindsey ran a hair though his collar length brown hair. "And here I was hoping that this would be easy."

"You ought to know better than most, lawyer-boy, nothing is ever easy in this town."

"Yeah, I should. Nothing ever changes." Lindsey brought his balled fist down hard on the counter in frustration. "I—"

"You're wrong," interrupted Fred. "Everything changes. Once upon a time, I was a gawky post-doc who dreamed of winning the Nobel prize—until I wound up in another dimension where they treated me like an animal, called me 'cow.' Angel saved me, brought me out of that place, and back home. But I wasn't the same girl that left. I don't know you Lindsey McDonald, but I'd be willing to bet that he's changed your life too."

Lindsey's vivid blue eyes clashed with Fred's. He'd learned that the best way to evaluate a person was the eyes. They gave away emotions better than any other tell. Hers were steely and determined, and Lindsey looked away first. He shrugged, pretending to be unaffected by the fierceness of her emotions. "What happened to this Daniel Holtz?"

"Not sure, really. Angel said that they'd talked and Holtz had agreed to leave and let Connor stay here with Angel," answered Gunn.

"So no one has seen him or heard anything about his whereabouts since then?" Both Gunn and Fred shook their heads. "All right, that could be a place to start. Maybe he wasn't so keen on giving up the boy after all. What about Cordelia? You mentioned she had been seeing someone, maybe we could see if he could tell us anything."

"He was called Groo, but they broke up, and we're pretty sure he's gone. He wasn't…he wasn't from here, so there'd be no way of contacting him. But maybe Dennis might know something," offered Fred.

"Another old flame," questioned Lindsey.

"A ghost actually, but he watches out for her," she replied.

"So this Dennis knows you guys?" They nodded. "All right, you go check with him, see if ghostie can tell you anything."

"And you?" demanded Gunn.

"I'm going to ask around about Holtz. I can't imagine that all three of them going missing at the same time is a coincidence. That's not the way things happen here in L.A." Mentally, Lindsey slapped himself and berated himself for an idiot. How had he let himself get drawn into this? Did he need Angel's help so badly for his half-formed plan to work? He supposed not, but Fred was right in a way, he did owe the vampire something. If he'd never known Angel, he'd likely still be working for Wolfram and Hart, selling his soul a little at a time in exchange for a penthouse, a Porche, and a corner office. He'd never have met Rom, never been loved for who he was. It was worth it. She'd told him that in the ambulance, as she'd lain there dying. Their time together had been so short, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything.

_They _had killed her, so he was going to kill them. Simple, elegant…it was an impossible task; to even contemplate it was suicide. Well…maybe he was a little mad.

He headed out of the hotel's lobby, tossing a wave over his shoulder to the two lovebirds. There had to be a few people left in this town he could pry information out of.

----+----

Lindsey didn't return until several hours later, long after sunset. Some of the 'people' he'd needed to speak to didn't discuss business until nightfall. His wallet was noticeably lighter, a fact he sorely lamented, but he'd found out what he'd needed to know. He was saddened to discover that his first and mostly likely stop had been burned to the ground. Caritas had always been a refuge for him. He hoped that the Host had made it out safely.

The lobby was dark and empty when he walked in, the sounds of his footsteps echoing in the stillness. "Honey, I'm home!" he called. He guessed that they'd gone to bed. He couldn't blame them, really. If he were a sane man, he'd have been asleep hours ago. He walked up to the reception desk, where he found a note addressed to him in a pretty, delicate scrawl.

_Lindsey  
__Dennis wasn't much help, but he did tell us that Cordy was planning on meeting Angel at Point Dume. There's a really lovely viewpoint there, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean, it's really romantic. I'm not sure if either of them made it there, but it's a place to start looking, unless you've turned up something better. Charles and I have gone to sleep, we'll talk in the morning.  
__Fred_

Lindsey's hand slipped into his pocket and found his room key. He might as well try to get some rest.

----+----

Lindsey awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of laughter. The combination had been familiar to him once, not too long ago, when he'd used to awaken to Rome brewing the rich blend they'd both enjoyed. He took a deep breath and slowly unclenched his fist, leaving four perfect half moon indentations behind on his palm.

He realized belatedly that he'd slept in his suit, and the poor fabric was wrinkled beyond recovery until he could get it to the dry cleaners. The ex-lawyer reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a pair of rumpled blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He quickly brushed his teeth and ran his fingers though his tangled hair in an attempt to tame it, making it only look more wild in the process. He finally gave up on his halfhearted attempt to look presentable, and headed downstairs.

A creak of the wooden floorboards gave him away as he headed toward the kitchen. "It seems our favorite lawyer is awake," he heard Gunn say. "Sleep well, councilor?" he asked as Lindsey poked his head into the doorway.

"Quite well, actually," he replied, walking into the kitchen and taking an empty seat at the table.

"Your boys turn up anything?"

"I got a name. Justine Cooper. Mean anything to you? Apparently she was Holtz's right hand gal. If he did anything with Angel and the rest, she'd know. And," he paused, fishing out a piece of paper from his jeans pocket, "I have her last known address."

"Well," said Gunn, looking at Lindsey approvingly, "let's go check it out."

"Of course…_after_ breakfast," implored the ex-lawyer. "Long night and all, I could really use some coffee." Fred leaned over and poured him a mug, and he waved away the cream and sugar. Lindsey took a tentative sip, it was actually pretty decent. He regarded Gunn and Fred thoughtfully. "My truck is only a two-seater."

"That old jalopy? We'll take my wheels," insisted Gunn.

When they'd all finished their breakfast, they got into Gunn's SUV, the dark skinned man driving, Fred beside him, while Lindsey crawled into the back seat. He handed the directions to Justine's house forward and Gunn started the engine. Loud hip-hop filled the car and both Fred and Lindsey winced. Thankfully for his sanity, she quickly changed the station, transitioning to country music. Gunn growled at Fred warningly and reached out to change the station back. She playfully slapped his hand away.

Lindsey chuckled. "Two to one, man, you've been outvoted."

"You like country?" asked Fred, surprised. He guessed she'd figured him for a classical man or something equally stuffy.

"My deep dark secret," he said, conspiratorially. "Actually, I was born and raised in Texas, even had my own band in high school."

"My musical talents are limited to playing the kazoo…poorly," she laughed, and Lindsey joined in. "I'm from Texas too, actually. I miss it sometimes, my parents are still there. We used to have these backyard barbeques, invite the whole neighborhood, and there'd be singin' an' dancing.' They don't tend to do that around here," she said wistfully.

"Not when your neighbor would just as soon barbeque _you_. Speaking of music though, what happened to Caritas?" Lindsey asked Gunn.

"Got blown up during some shakedown with Holtz. Lorne moved out to Vegas to give a friend of his a hand, so I doubt it'll be reopening anytime soon."

"Damn," swore Lindsey.

"You sing karaoke?" asked Fred. "Wouldn't think you the type."

"Boy's got a set of pipes on him," Gunn informed her, his eyes still on the road.

"I did mostly originals. When I had my hand anyway." Fred glanced back at him, looking from one perfect hand to the other. "This is the evil one," Lindsey explained, holding up his right hand. Fred giggled nervously, as if unsure if he was joking or not. "I mentioned it to you yesterday…it's kind of a painful subject. Angel cut it off back when I was still working for Wolfram and Hart. I was royally pissed with him for a good long time. Few months later, the firm gets me a replacement, all shiny and new, or so I thought. It turned out to be part of an organ harvesting operation where ex-employees were kept in tubes to supply us with body parts."

Fred gasped. "That's horrible!" she exclaimed.

Lindsey nodded. "It was the last straw for me. I left my job, left L.A…they followed me, of course – they never let you leave. But I thought I could get away, make my life what it should have been. It worked for a while too. They caught up with me, killed my girlfriend…we were going to…well, I was going to…you know, propose." Lindsey broke off. This was none of their business; he didn't even know why he was telling them this. He'd never shared his plans with anyone.

"I'm so sorry," said Fred sympathetically.

"That's pretty harsh, man," offered Gunn. "But they're the bad guys, and that's what they do. That's why people have to stand up to them." Gunn pulled into a driveway. "We're here."

The three of them got out of the car and walked up to the door. Lindsey knocked twice and waited, while Gunn and Fred moved to opposite sides of the door, out of sight. After a minute, a young woman opened the door.

"Hello, are you Justine?" asked Lindsey.

Gunn didn't give her time to answer, grabbing her by her hair and forcing himself inside. The redhead cried out and tried to lash out at him with her fists, biting and kicking, but Gunn casually locked her wrists behind her back and slammed her hard into the wall. "Where's Angel," Gunn demanded.

"What makes you think I'd tell you even if I knew?" she spat.

"Because you don't want me to break every bone in your body," he replied calmly. Lindsey and Fred stepped inside, closing the door behind them. "You're all alone here, Justine, three against one," continued Gunn. "Your sugar daddy is gone and you're all alone. Now I'll ask once more, where is Angel?"

"Go to hell," she growled. Gun slammed her against the wall with more force this time. Lindsey caught Gunn's eye, and Gunn nodded at him.

Lindsey walked up to Justine slowly, purposefully. "I don't like hurting people, Justine," he told her. "But I worked with evil long enough to learn a few tricks. I really hope we don't get to the bloody stuff before you tell us what we need to know." Lindsey let his eyes go dead, sealing off that part of his mind that was railing against the wrongness of this act. He's become so good at it when he'd been heading Special Projects. He'd been able to easily lock away the part of himself that felt remorse in order to do what had to be done. Justine saw it in his face, and finally, she was afraid.

----+----

"I don't debate the necessity of that stuff in there, McDonald, but I never want to see you do that shit again," said Gunn.

"Trust me, you're not the only one," replied Lindsey, blue eyes haunted.

"So he's in the river, huh? When do we start looking?"

"Right now. We should bring her with us; she might remember where they dumped the body."

"I can't believe it…Angel trusted the kid. To be betrayed like that, by your own son…that must be the worst kind of torture," Gunn mused.

Lindsey nodded silently, while Fred regarded him with trepidation. He knew she looked at him differently now, afraid of what he could be…and maybe she was right. He sure as hell hoped not, but deep down he worried that he hadn't changed at all.


	5. Into the Deep

Many thanks to Imzadi, who I can always count on to review any story with Lindsey in it. I wouldn't rule out a relation between Fred and Lindsey, but I am not going to explore it in this story. I'm going to have enough going on as it is! My thanks as well to everyone who read, even if you didn't have the time to review. I do, however, encourage you to do so if you enjoy it, and even if you don't. One of the ways an author improves is by listening to feedback.

I borrowed heavily from the episode _Deep Down _for this chapter, even though it takes place much sooner in the chronology (Angel is submerged for weeks, not months). I state once again that I do not own that intellectual property. So, on with the show.

-I-

Angel floated. He knew that he was underwater, but here in the total sensory deprivation of the deep ocean, he imagined he was flying. Humans left isolated like this started to go insane within hours, but he had endured far worse than this. He was sane enough for now, though he was starving. His kind could theoretically go forever without blood, though the longer they went without feeding, the weaker they became. If they were denied long enough, vampires went comatose, the damage to the brain eventually becoming too severe to repair. Angel couldn't count the days down here, but it didn't matter. No one was coming for him. He'd dream until even the ability to dream was taken from him.

So he flew. The colors of the daylight landscape weren't quite right though. It had only been three years since he'd last seen the sun, during the day that only he remembered, but memories of color in sunshine faded so quickly. When he was a child, he'd dreamed of growing wings and flying away from home and never, ever looking back. Instead, he'd become a lush. He'd told himself that one manner of escape was as good as another. Losing himself in ale and women had been better than becoming what his father had expected of him.

Angel flew over the ocean, imagining his sun just about to set below the horizon. He alighted on cliff with a beautiful view, a sign nearby read _Point Dume_. He looked out on the vista, taking a moment to bask in the beauty of creation. He had an artist's soul, after all.

"I didn't think you were coming," he said, sensing a presence behind him. He turned, facing Cordelia, her beauty in that moment surpassing the majesty of the sea.

"You know me better than that," she smiled, and reached out her hand to cup his face, "better than anybody."

Suddenly self-conscious, Angel put his hands in his pockets and gave a small laugh. "I don't know if that's true."

"Yes, you do," she replied, walking slowly to the cliff's edge. "It's so beautiful here."

"Yes," he responded. "Yes, it is, just the way it should be…" But Angel knew that it hadn't happened this way. Cordelia had never come. Instead it had been Connor, his son, who attacked him, and with the help of Justine, bound him in a coffin and sent him to the bottom of the sea. "This isn't how it happened," he told her, regret in every fiber of his being.

"I like this version better." She leaned in close to him, her lips brushing softly against his own. Angel deepened the kiss, their tongues meeting and dancing and withdrawing, only to renew the cycle again. Cordy broke the kiss first. "I'm in love with you, Angel. Deep down, I think I have been for a long time. I needed you to know that."

He pulled her close to him, trailing kisses down her milky neck. "I need you, Cordy. I need you." Angel felt his muscles shift too late; his teeth were already buried in her flesh. He felt her gasp against him, but he couldn't stop, it had been too long and the siren song of her blood called him too strongly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and felt her take her last breath as she died in his arms.

-II-

The docks were deserted this time of night, and an aura of desolation filled the air like a solid object. The air had weight here, pressed against a person and made them uncomfortable. Lindsey was just relieved that it was empty; he'd learned early in life that robbery was best when there was no one to witness it. Growing up dirt poor taught a man many important lessons like that. He'd found what they had been looking for—a fishing boat, state of the art. It had a brand new radar system and a top of the line hoist; certainly good enough to both find the metal coffin Justine had described, and bring it to the surface. Hotwiring a boat, however, was not among his skills, and the keys were likely with the owner.

"No worries," said Gunn, walking in front of the shorter man to the boat's controls, "I got this." He had the boat ready to motor within a minute. Lindsey returned to Gunn's SUV to extract a bruised and bound Justine and escort her to the boat. She winced as his grip closed over a particularly nasty welt, but otherwise said nothing, thankfully. Lindsey supposed she'd exhausted all the muscles in her mouth on the way down here. He half dragged her back toward the boat they'd commandeered.

"All right, Sunshine, any ideas where we should start looking?"

"Up your ass," she replied, a bit of her fire starting to return. He wished it has just stayed banked. Lindsey put ice back into his gaze, and she shivered. "Look, you thought it would be simple, but guess what? We never wanted him found, dumbass. We went out, we dumped him off, and we left him to fate. Bastard's damn lucky he's not dead." Lindsey's grip tightened on her injured arm and he could see the strain on her face as she fought not to cry out. "We…headed southwest from the docks, that's as much as I remember! About twenty minutes out."

"Fine," accepted Lindsey grimly. He released her, her own momentum sending her sprawling to the deck of the boat.

"We should divide up the area into sectors," suggested Fred, not meeting his eyes. "It would make for a more effective search pattern. We'll also need a diver. Not every solid contact can be a six foot metal box."

Lindsey glanced down at the redheaded woman on the deck. "What do you say, Sunshine, fancy a swim?" he asked. Justine glared up at him with pure hatred. "Hell, she'd probably just swim off if we left her own her own. I'll do it."

Gunn looked at him like he didn't trust him any more than Justine, while Fred refused to look at him at all. That was fine, he was used to being disliked, at least they hadn't disagreed.

It took them hours to find even a probable contact, moving at a moderate pace, scanning one of Fred's sectors at a time. The first blip had been a cause for some excitement, while Justine had shown her enthusiasm by wishing it to be a bicycle or an old tire. Lindsey had put on a wetsuit, strapped the tank on, and gone to check it out. He was probably more disappointed than any of them when it had turned out to be an old shopping cart. They found a rusted out car a few hours after that. Justine's expression was smug. Lindsey thought he'd even caught her whistling a few times.

"It's getting close to dawn," warned Gunn, pointing at his watch. "If we pull him up into daylight, he'll be a crispy critter."

"We have time to check a few more grids," said Lindsey, determined. "I need him."

"You and the rest of LA. We'll—" A loud beep from the boat's radar interrupted him. Before he even had time to look around, Lindsey was in the water. Gunn put his arms around Fred and drew her close, neither of them daring to hope.

Lindsey dove. So close now, so close. _Soon, Rom. They'll pay, I swear it._ The closer he drew to the ocean's bottom, the more frantic he grew. He had to force himself to slow down, not to descend too quickly, the lessons of his dive instructor in Grand Cayman echoing in his head. He held a flashlight in his left hand, one of those expensive high powered diving ones. He directed the beam downward, but he still couldn't see the bottom. It was deeper here than in the other areas they'd searched.

Finally, e saw the sand and seaweed that heralded his destination. Lindsey took a moment to equalize the pressure in his ears, then ran the flashlight around the area, trying to see the object that they boat's sensors had detected. The light illuminated a school of fish, a rock formation, and lots and lots of plant life. _Damn, _swore Lindsey to himself, _must have gotten my trajectory screwed up. Wait!_ The beam crossed a brown rectangular object several feet away, nearly at the edge of his view. He swam closer, hope a little song in his mostly hollow heart.

There were no air bubbles coming from it, but that was only to be expected. Yes, definitely long enough to be Angel's coffin. He didn't see any opening—no there! There was the glass window that Justine had described. He hadn't needed her to go into quite so much detail, but at least he was assured he'd had the desired effect on her. He'd known Gunn was more than willing to have done the same, but Lindsey couldn't let him. Doing…those things…well, it took a man to a pretty dark place, and he didn't want Fred to see her sweetheart visit there. And after observing the way the pretty southerner reacted to him now, he knew it had been the right choice.

Lindsey checked the window, almost afraid of what he'd find. But it was him, the smug son-of-a-bitch himself. Lindsey swam straight upward, and as soon as he broke the surface he signaled the boat.

"You found him?" called Fred hopefully, as Lindsey swam to the vessel.

"I found him," he yelled back, almost giving a down-home whoop of excitement, but years of denying that part of himself held him back. "Lower the winch, I'll attach it to the box so you can pull it up."

"Don't be long," reminded Gunn, pointing upward.

"I won't be."

Only minutes later they were lifting Angel's coffin from its watery grave. Lindsey walked by a sulking Justine, tied up near the bow, shucking off his dive gear and wetsuit as he went. He pulled on his mostly dry t-shirt and jeans from the pile he'd left on the boat's floor, regarding her warily. She looked like she'd spit in his face if only he'd just come a little bit closer. He wasn't going to give her the pleasure.

At the rear of the boat, Fred and Gunn were maneuvering the box so that it wouldn't damage anything when it was lowered to the deck. When they finally got it down, he realized what he should have noticed before. The box's opening had been welded shut.

"Shit," swore Lindsey, and it seemed both Gunn and Fred shared his sentiment. He glared at the captive redhead. "You didn't mention that," he said viciously, pointing to the melted sidebars that secured the lid.

"Oops." Her voice was the sweetness of false innocence. The man he'd been last year would have slapped that cloying smile right off her face. He still felt an echo of that desire, like a phantom emotion Very similar to when he used to wake up in the mornings and try to turn off the alarm clock with the fingers he didn't have. Instead, Lindsey sighed. Close, so damn close…and yet still farther. But he was nothing if not a problem solver.

"Anything on this boat able to get through these?" he asked.

"It's not ours, that wouldn't be right," said Fred.

"Sometimes it's not about what's right," said Lindsey softly, "it's about what's necessary."

"Hate to say it, but lawyer-boy's got a point, we gotta find a way to get Angel out. Search it, maybe there's a saw or something we can use to break it open," Gunn ordered.

An examination of the boat's supplies yielded no saws, however there was a small acetylene torch. Why there would be something like that here Lindsey couldn't fathom, but he wasn't about to look a bit of serendipity in the mouth. Lighting the torch, he began to burn though the hinges holding the lid on. Nearly though the last bolt, the redhead piped up again.

"Congratulations, you're a _big _hero. Maybe your friends will even forget the things you did to me. Maybe they'll make you a cake. I wonder what it'll look—"

Angel's hand shot upward as the door fell away from the coffin, circling Lindsey's neck. The force wasn't what it should have been, not even close, and he should know. Lindsey slowly reached his hand to the vampire's wrist, gently pulling it away from his throat. Surprisingly, Angel allowed him. Lindsey inspected the vampire more closely now, a bit worried. _He's not even really conscious,_ realized the ex-lawyer. _He's probably operating on pure instinct_. Lindsey heard a faint ringing in his ears, it was Justine's laughter. Well, let her laugh, he'd won in the end.

Lindsey looked to Gunn. "Help me lift him," he asked the dark-skinned man. Together the two of them carried the prone vampire into the boat's small cabin and set him on the table. Justine couldn't resist getting another barb in as they walked by her.

"All the energy you've wasted to save that _thing_. For what? A happy ending? Everything like it was? He's going to turn on you one day."

Lindsey merely ushered a numb looking Fred inside, and slammed the door in Justine's face. It felt good.

"What's wrong with him," asked the southern girl hesitantly.

Lindsey looked down on the dark haired vampire with disappointment. _Why'd I come back here looking for his help anyway?_ he thought. _The shmuck can't even help himself._ "He needs blood," he informed her.

Pulling out a pocket knife from his jeans pocket, Lindsey flicked open a blade with practiced ease and without hesitation slashed his forearm. It was deep, a bit more so than he'd wanted, and the viscous crimson fluid dripped down, making trails like tears down his arm before falling to the floor. _Bleeding for Angel's sake, never thought I'd see the day, _he thought as he pushed the wound to the vampire's mouth, forcing him to swallow.

Fred and Gunn watched as he fed Angel like a child, both a bit shocked. It was the first time they'd ever seen the vampire take blood from a human, and it was mesmerizing. Like watching a jungle cat move, beautiful…but you knew at ay moment it could turn deadly.

"Are you…are you okay?" asked Fred, tentatively, forgetting for a moment her fear of the man that had helped bring her savior back. She loved Charles, but part of her would always see Angel as her handsome prince, who had rescued her from the dungeon of Pylea.

For his part, Lindsey was touched by her concern, though he could see Gunn's eyes narrow a bit. "I'm fine—ouch," he hissed as Angel sunk his teeth into Lindsey's arm, worrying at the wound like a dog with a favorite bone. "Watch out, he bites," warned the ex-lawyer, a small attempt at levity. When he began to feel light headed, Lindsey finally pulled his arm away, bandaging it with a strip torn from his t-shirt. "He'll be okay," he assured them, "but he might be delusional still until he gets more blood. Animal would be best, whatever he's used to drinking." Lindsey turned to face Gunn. "We need to head back to shore."

The bigger man nodded wordlessly, told hold of Fred's delicate hand and left the cabin, leaving Lindsey alone with the vampire. _Better company than the redheaded hell-bitch_.

-III-

Angel wasn't sure if he was dreaming. He remembered rising to the surface. If he didn't have the same dream every day he'd have almost sworn it was real. But for once the hunger that burned inside of him had receded, leaving him able to thing, and to brood.

"Why is it like this?" he asked himself softly. "Life should be beautiful and bright. But no matter how hard I try, everything I touch turns to ashes." He imagined he heard something stirring nearby, as if waking from slumber. Something moving his way. Angel ignored it, another hallucination. His thoughts turned instead, as always, to Connor.

"I have to stop him," he admitted to himself. It pained him, his own son, a miracle that should never have been…but it had to be done.

"Angel?" He imagined a voice. Maybe it went with the sound of footsteps. Maybe not. It was all in his head, he could control his own illusions, couldn't he?

"I have to do it." His words were a promise. Angel closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what Connor's life should have been. Happiness and sunshine, playing football, being loved by everyone who knew him. When Angel opened his eyes, he saw the boy standing over him, wearing an expression of hatred. "I should have killed you."

"Probably." It wasn't Connor's voice. It was older, but still familiar. The vampire was confused, until he remembered the taste of fresh _human_ blood on his tongue. "I know you told me not to come back here," continued the voice. "The California State Trooper _really _didn't like your sign, by the way. But I need your help."

Oh, it was coming back to him now, half shadowed images finally coalesced in his mind: Fred and Gunn standing on the deck of a boat, his hand reaching toward the nearest source of food, too weak to do anything else. Lindsey McDonald, dressed casually and looking like a wet puppy, feeding him from his own arm. An old Ford pick-up truck driving away, Angel's stowaway attached to the rear bumper, something to remember LA by. Mixed feelings of relief and regret.

Angel regarded the man now—a little leaner, hair a bit longer than he'd seen Lindsey wear it before. He reminded Angel of a restless wolf. Whatever had driven the lawyer to come back, he figured it had to be pretty bad to ask him for help. Angel smelled no fear on him this time, just a sort of sullen anger. Another victim of the ugliness of life. Angel clenched his fists, and he could swear he felt the ashes.

-end chapter-

Appologies for the crappy formatting, seems to dislike me tonight.


	6. Hell Awaits

AN: See, I said I'd update! With this chapter, I'm about a third of the way though the story, and we haven't even gotten to the really good stuff yet. This chapter is short, and while it's not as graphic as I could have written, I'll warn you ahead of time that it's definitely not sunshine and puppies. I want to thank people for sticking with the story, and please send me reviews if you have any feedback, good or bad.

-I-

Wesley had been a patient man, dying had not changed that. He supposed it came from his father's stern hand early on, followed by the tutors that had him do all of his work over and over until every letter of every translation was perfect. An impatient person would have gone mad, and so Wesley adapted. He also had the good sense to forbid an impatient man from accompanying him here tonight. He'd been amused at Connor's reaction to his plans, and had allowed the boy to live, for now, but he couldn't risk the cocksure youth moving before Wesley was ready.

Watching the group of people disembark from the vessel from another pier, his vampire eyes saw everything distinctly. There were five people in total, two of them carrying a bulky form, while another led the last like a prisoner. It had been pure coincidence that he'd chosen this night to act on Connor's information. Pure chance that they had come as well. Not only had Fred and Gunn arrived to deliver their champion, as he would have thought, but two others. To Wesley's surprise, he knew them both. Rage swelled in his chest when he caught the sight of the towheaded woman, fierce and hot, and his vision grew as red as her hair. Holtz's right hand. It seemed like only yesterday she'd slit his throat and left him to die. Wes dug his fingernails into his palm, forcing himself to calmness.

The last man he recognized as well, though it took him a minute to place him. The man's hair was longer, and he wore blue jeans instead of a three thousand dollar suit, but there was no mistaking Lindsey McDonald. What the man was doing here, however, helping the tattered remnants of Angel Investigations, the very institution he'd worked to destroy, was a mystery. Wesley had no theories at the moment; all he knew was that the lawyer's presence here could complicate matters.

So he waited, and he watched. Five on one were bad odds, even if he did have preternatural strength behind him. He consoled himself with the thought that he wouldn't have to bother himself with searching for the location of Angel's body. Gunn and lovely Fred had done his dirty work for him. For that, he might spare their lives, but it was unlikely.

Gunn gathered the limp body of the vampire and helped him get into the car. Angel seemed conscious, though severely weakened and unable to help himself. _Well, _thought Wesley, _that won't be any fun_. Wes wanted Angel to suffer as he had suffered, and you had to be far more careful with a man on the verge of death than one at full strength. As Gunn was getting Angel situated, pulling a thick blanket over his prone body to prevent combustion, Fred glanced anxiously between the other two men before getting into the passenger seat. The line of her body spoke of tension and a bit of fear. She looked beautiful, and he wished that he was the source of her distress.

The lawyer had remained back several paces, his face taut, like he was annoyed. Knowing Justine, it was not hard to figure out why. He'd probably like nothing better than to punch her out, but he held himself reserved. When Gunn closed the passenger door and got into the driver's seat, Lindsey, dragged the redheaded bitch away from the car, and got in real close next to her. Just close enough for seduction, or a threat.

To Wesley's delight, they left her there, as the lawyer got into the backseat of the truck. He could not have asked for a better ending to the night. Well, actually, he would make the better ending himself, woven from a tapestry of her screams. As red brake lights flashed in the distance and disappeared from sight, Wesley emerged from his scouting spot, and moved like a deadly shadow toward Justine, who had collapsed on the pier, out of exhaustion, or possibly relief.

He moved like a shadow, swift and silent as only a vampire could. Tonight he was Death, and he needed not a pale horse to bring Hell with him.

"Hello, my dear," he said when he drew close enough for her to fear, his voice pitched low and dangerous. She looked around wildly, rocketing to her feet and instinctually readying her body for combat, but she couldn't see him. The power of being everywhere and nowhere filled Wesley with euphoric glee.

"I've dreamt of the moment we'd meet again." His voice came from another angle this time, and she wheeled to face it. Her instincts were good, but she was unarmed and outclassed. She really didn't have a chance.

"Show yourself, you bastard," she screamed in frustration and fear. The smell of it was nearly overpowering, yet it only whetted his appetite for the main event. Fear was a marvelous thing, but terror, horror, sheer panic…those were what he was really after. He sought the moment she realized the best outcome of the encounter was death, when she began to crave it like the dark embrace of a lover.

Wesley came from her back, making no sound as he drove her back against a wall, her front side flush against it and her hands caught behind her in a grip she could never hope to break. She gasped in pain, a small, choked sound, like she had attempted to cut it off but couldn't quite manage. Her body had betrayed her for the first time tonight, but not the last.

"Get off of me, you son of a bitch," she spat.

"Oh no, Justine, I don't think so. You're not going anywhere. Now, I'm going to hurt you, and the pain won't stop until you beg me to let you die. My father always told me patience is a virtue. I can wait for eternity."

-II-

Sometime later, well after the sun had risen, a dockworker discovered the body of a redheaded woman. She carried no identification, and the police that had responded to the call had to verify her identity though dental records. The medical examiner found the cause of death to be not from the many contusions that decorated the body, nor the numerous broken bones, but due to severe blood loss from a severed artery in the neck. Her throat had been slit.


End file.
